


Guardian

by WandererRiha



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: ALL THE ANGST, Angst, Did I Mention Angst?, Gen, So much angst, angst angst angst, lots of angst here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 07:21:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17320514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WandererRiha/pseuds/WandererRiha
Summary: I blame SpinnerYesteryear.Hojo isn’t sure he trusts Lazard to keep a teenaged Sephiroth safe on a battlefield.Therefore, he decides to give him an assistant.





	Guardian

Sephiroth will be shipped out soon. He’s still a child, just fifteen, but he’ll be shipped to Wutai to fight. He looks like eighteen, acts like forty, has been drilling since he was twelve, but Hojo cannot help but worry. This is his life’s work they’re sending to the front. This is his _son_. Yes he’s tall and strong and well-trained, but he’s still a kid and this is war, not the controlled environment of the training arena. 

Hollander’s boys will also go, but probably not right away. Sephiroth will be sent first, sent ahead. Why risk all three investments at once? The Deepground children are too young yet even for Shinra’s sensibilities, but Hojo does not doubt that if the war drags on long enough, they will be sent as well. Wutai is putting up more of a fight than anyone had ever expected.

Shinra is sending an officer with Sephiroth to keep an eye on him- one of Finn’s bastards if the rumors are to be believed- and Hojo can’t decide if that is reassuring or not. He isn’t sure he trusts a twenty-something to keep a teenager safe on a battlefield. If Angeal and Genesis are sent in the following wave, Shinra Junior will have his hands full trying to keep all three of them safe and under control. It would be asking a lot under normal circumstances. Therefore, Hojo decides to give him an assistant.

The Turk has been locked in the specimen containment units for years now. Every time Hojo thinks he’s making progress, he backslides. Something always happens. A limit break triggers, things get broken, and security is called in to deal with him. Sometimes Hojo has to shoot him again himself. He’s past feeling guilty. All he feels now is resigned. The Turk will never be safe to release back into the wild, as it were. He might, however, be safe to release into another controlled environment. Not that a battlefield is a controlled environment, but there are ways. There are ways.

Deepground has been experimenting with microchips in humans. The labs have long used them in animals to better keep track of the specimens. It isn’t so hard to implant a microchip in human flesh, the tricky part is the controls. However, this is more than strictly wires and programming. The Turk carries a summon materia, a True summon materia, and true materia breed lesser copies of themselves. There are little nodules of materia deposits throughout the scarring on the Turk’s chest. It isn’t difficult to extract one- Behemoth tranquilizers are a wonderful thing- or to fit it to a bangle.

Now all he needs is the control for this experiment.

\--

“Captain Lazard, reporting,” the young man says, offering a salute despite the fact that Hojo is not an officer.

“At ease,” Hojo says, amused. Yes, he can see Finn’s features in this blonde boy’s face. Hopefully he has more sense than his father. Hojo can’t help wondering if the rank is from privilege or merit? He supposes he’ll find out.

“I have something for you.”

Captain Lazard quirks an eyebrow, blinking blankly as Hojo sets the bangle in his hand.

“I’m sending one of our...enhanced soldiers with you. He’s to serve as your attache. I’m afraid he’s not very bright, however, and he has something of a temper. Give him orders using that.”

“With a summon materia?” The young captain is clearly baffled. Hojo sighs.

“There was an accident. The only way to save his life was to implant a summon materia in his body. The materia in that bangle is a daughter materia from the one he carries. It will allow you to command him more effectively.”

“O-kay…” Lazard drawls, clearly unsure what to make of this. “Am I to meet him now or later?”

Hojo had not thought of that.

“I suppose you can see him now, if you like. I warn you, he’s a bit of a mess.”

Hojo isn’t terribly worried about Lazard blabbing. Who would he tell? Who would believe him? Soldiers and Turks have very little interaction and Hojo feels it unlikely that word would make it back to Veld. Still…

“I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that this is to be kept in strict confidence,” Hojo tells him as he leads the way to the Turk’s enclosure.

The Turk is sitting comatose on the pallet. They had to take the bunk away, as well as the sheets, blankets, and pillows to keep him from trying to injure himself. One hand is still enough to claw bloody gouges, and so he’s been wrapped in a straight jacket. His ink black hair has grown out long, past his shoulders in ragged locks. No one’s been brave enough to try to shave him, so he’s got a beard to match. Hojo concedes that he doesn’t look like much, at present.

“The hell happened to him?” Lazard blurts.

“As I mentioned previously, there was an accident,” Hojo says tersely. “He’s under sedation at the moment.” It isn’t true, but it might as well be. The Turk spends most of his time staring senselessly at the wall when he isn’t actively trying to kill himself or someone else.

“I realize he doesn’t make a convincing first impression, but he’s undergone the same training program as Sephiroth. He can follow orders and fight. I believe once back in fresh air, he’ll prove himself an adequate servant.”

“Okay,” Lazard says blankly. “Do...you want me to take him now?”

“No, I’ll see that he’s ready before you ship out. He’ll be waiting for you in Nibelheim.”

Lazard gives a bewildered nod. “Sir.”

\--

Ages ago, Hojo had written the combination to the lock on the safe down on a bit of paper. It had been in the form of a series of absurd clues regarding how to find the appropriate numbers. It turns out he hasn’t got it on him, it must have been left behind. No matter. He sends the combination to Lazard, and includes the Turk- packed in a metal locker- in the supplies to be shipped to Nibelheim.

The town has become a major hub for troop transit. The mansion is housing soldiers and personnel on their way to the Wutai islands. The secret passage isn’t so secret now. It’s been wedged open, and supplies have been crammed into the network of tunnels that make up the basement.

In another time and place, Lazard never receives the message. Never finds the key. His priority is Sephiroth and he feels he can handle one teenaged boy better alone than with the assistance of one of Hojo’s lab rats. Here, he and Sephiroth arrive on time. The combination is in his PHS. There is no monster waiting in the safe this time. Lazard retrieves the key and goes down to the one sealed room in the basement.

It’s obvious why this door was locked. Even the most hardened veteran would think twice about storing weapons and MREs in a crypt. Only one coffin is intact and new. A standard issue metal box lies in the middle of the room. Lazard opens it. The man from the labs is inside. It occurs to Lazard that Hojo never told him the guy’s name.

“Hey?” he asks, shaking the man’s shoulder. “Hey, you awake?”

A body that had previously seemed unconscious if not dead, springs to life. Lazard finds himself flat on the ground, pinned by the shoulders. The guy from the coffin’s eyes are glowing a solid blood red. Fangs show clearly from his curled back lips. The talons of a metal prosthetic dig deep into Lazard’s skin.

“Get off!” Lazard shouts, rolling to throw him off. He goes easier than Lazard would have expected. The guy from the coffins seems confused too.

“Stay there!” Lazard orders, scrambling to his feet. He fingers the bangle around his wrist. The materia within it is hot and glowing. A faint glow is just visible beneath the shirt of the guy’s uniform. A bemused look on his face, the guy stands at parade rest.

“Stay there,” Lazard repeats, not sure if the gizmo is working, or if the guy’s feeling generous. “Who are you? What’s your name.?”

Someone’s given him a shave, cut his hair, and put him in a uniform. The arm is new too. It doesn’t disguise how skeletally thin he is, or the fact that his eyes are still glowing like those of a SOLDIER. Aside from that, he doesn’t look so different from the sorry excuse for a man that had been sitting in a cell in Hojo’s lab. They guy just stands there. His mouth works and his eyes flick from side to side.

 _There was an accident,_ Lazard remembers.

“Do you remember?”

The guy just looks at him, pleading.

“It’s okay,” Lazard assures him. “I’m gonna call you…”

He casts about for ideas. The open coffins and dry bones within offer no suggestions. Wait.

“Vlad. Is that okay?”

The guy tilts his head, as if he’s struggling to understand. They stare at each other, silent, until his expression fades into one of blankness. Lazard sighs.

“Right. Vlad it is.”

\--

Aside from his initial outburst, Vlad seems pretty chill. He’s quiet, and doesn’t seem to know what’s going on half the time. However, he does whatever Lazard says, which is more than can be said for some of his men. Lazard gives Sephiroth the short version, and cautions him not to annoy their new friend.

“Just let him be, okay? He came out of the labs.”

“I came out of the labs,” Sephiroth huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” Lazard says perhaps too quickly. “But you were designed to be the way you are. Vlad’s had to have a lot of work done. Don’t pester him, alright?”

Sephiroth sighs and rolls his eyes as only a teenager could do. “Fine.”

\--

Vlad either can’t or won’t sleep. Lazard assigns him to night watch. Everyone wins. It’s better than listening to him pacing the halls like some sort of zombie. Lazard increasingly wonders if this is a good idea, if Vlad can be trusted, but he’s been good so far. Mostly the lights are on but nobody’s home. At best, Vlad seems confused. Lazard’s caught him more than once wandering the mansion, a distraught look on his face.

“What’s the matter? Did you lose something.”

Unless he’s given direct commands, Vlad doesn’t seem to understand. As long as he hasn’t stolen anything, and isn’t going through the other troop’s stuff, Lazard decides to let it go.

They ship out not long after that. Vlad shakes off some of the fog then. About the only things he’ll pay attention to are Sephiroth and Lazard. Perhaps he’s been programmed to do that? Lazard finds himself talking to Vlad despite the fact that Vlad probably doesn’t hear a word. He catches Sephiroth doing the same thing, but Vlad proves a bit more of an attentive audience for the boy.

Vlad still hasn’t said a word. Maybe he can’t? Lazard doesn’t pressure him, and Sephiroth seems content to chatter without being given a response. Vlad wakes up considerably when they get to Wutai. Perhaps it’s the salt air, the warm climate, or the sheer strangeness of it all. Their unit is sent deep into the bush and Vlad comes too.

With deep reservations, Lazard gives Vlad a rifle. It’s what they all have. It isn’t right to send a man into a combat situation unarmed.

“You use this on the bad guys,” Lazard tells him firmly. “Not on us, not on yourself. Okay?”

Vlad stares at him, but gives a wooden nod. He slings the rifle over his shoulder with a practised ease that makes Lazard swallow. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea?

It is the _best_ idea! Vlad, on night watch as usual, picks off no fewer than six Wutai troops who were trying to sneak into camp. Who would have known the guy’s a godsdamned sniper? Lazard claps him on the shoulder and smiles.

“Thanks, Vlad.”

The quirk of Vlad’s cheek and lips isn’t even a parody of a smile, but Lazard still gets the message.

It goes well for a while. Vlad makes himself useful, Sephiroth gets some combat experience, all things considered it isn’t terrible for a war. And then, of course, it all goes to hell.

Lazard is wounded. Wounded badly enough to get a Purple Heart, a Silver Star, and a ticket home. He’s lucky to be alive. If he’ll ever walk again is up to the doctors back in Midgar. He gives Sephiroth a field commission and what blessing he can. Poor kid’s gonna need it. Until his buddies get here, all he has is Vlad.

It’s not until weeks later, finally shaking off the anesthesia of yet another surgery that it occurs to Lazard that he never gave the bangle to Sephiroth. It’s in with his personal effects in a box somewhere. He gives the nurses a heart attack trying to get out of bed. They bring him the bangle after a lot of arguing and four letter words. Lazard snaps it around his wrist and holds his other hand over the stone until it grows almost too hot to touch.

_Keep it together. Keep him safe._

It’s all he can do with an ocean between them.

\--

Lazard doesn’t see Sephiroth for months. He, Vlad, Genesis, and Angeal are all embedded deep within the Wutai backcountry. When Sephiroth is finally sent home on leave, the man who comes into Lazard’s hospital room is someone he barely recognizes. The boy he left in Wutai must have died in the jungle somewhere. This is a man who has seen things that most men never hope to see.

“Glad to see you’re okay,” Sephiroth tells him. “We were worried about you.”

“Right back at ya,” Lazard replies, shaking hands. “Good to see you in one piece.”

Sephiroth gives him a smile, but it’s fragile and sickly.

“Vlad come with you?”

Sephiroth shifts awkwardly. “No.”

That’s a bit strange, but perhaps they’d needed Vlad more on the front.

“We...lost him.”

“Lost?” Lazard echoes, fearing the worst. Vlad might have been a head case, but…

“He’s not dead,” Sephiroth says, and Lazard breathes a sigh of relief. “At least, we don’t think so. We...he went missing during the last engagement. I don’t know what happened to him.”

Lazard fingers the bangle on his wrist and then slides it off.

“He’s got a materia in his body,” Lazard explains, holding the bangle out to Sephiroth. “You can command him with this.”

Sephiroth stares at the bangle dumbly. After a long moment he takes it and clips it around his own wrist. It barely fits.

“I’ll bring him back if I can,” Sephiroth promises.

Lazard nods. “I know you will.”

\--

He doesn’t find Vlad, though Vlad finds them a couple of times. Vlad is almost like an actual summon. Whenever they’re in a tight spot, or things aren’t going well, Vlad shows up. Sephiroth can never corner him long enough to ask him to come back. No matter how often he shouts _come back, come back_ in his head or out loud, Vlad never comes. Sephiroth would give much and more to know why.

The war drags on. He’s sent home, sent back, every time it gets harder. Sephiroth feels guilty for leaving Vlad alone in the jungle, but he never comes no matter how much he calls. Maybe he can’t. Sephiroth hopes he’s not hurt.

It gets ugly toward the end. They set a lot of things on fire. Wutai sets even more things on fire in retaliation. No one’s playing by the rules anymore; not Shinra, not Wutai. Sephiroth doesn’t remember why they’re doing this, wonders if he was in fact ever told.

He loses his men; to the jungle, to the enemy troops. Sephiroth had thought he knew this part of the wilderness, but how can an outsider know the country as well as a native? He and Genesis and Angeal find themselves alone and surrounded. This should be easy. They should be able to take these guys no problem. They are SOLDIERs, there are three of them, they’re not even new at this. But there are so many, and the flames are so high and so close.

 _Help,_ Sephiroth thinks desperately, unable to touch the stone in his bangle. _Just get us out of this corner and we can manage, I think. Help, just help!_

There’s fire and blood; the roar of flames, the screams of men. The screaming intensifies and it takes Sephiroth a minute to realize that it’s because Vlad has come. That makes it just a little bit easier, just a little less scary. Until something happens to Vlad. One minute he’s picking off insurgents, the next he’s doubled over, struggling to stay on his feet. One of the Wutai troops lunges for him. The blade goes through him and Sephiroth starts forward to help, to avenge, to do _something_.

Vlad is laughing, black blood dripping down his chin with every breath. Sephiroth feels his confusion melt away and freeze into horror as Vlad’s body begins to warp and writhe. The shadows of the burning woods gather to him, piling on until he’s three times the size he was. Red leather wings erupt from his back, horns from his head. A long, barbed tail lashes the earth behind him.

At a gesture from the creature, the Wutai troops turn to ash, their bones collapsing in a startled heap. Then the creature turns on them and lifts his hand a second time. This isn’t Vlad, and he won’t be offering any help. Rather than stand and meet the same fate, Sephiroth, Angeal, and Genesis rush him. The fiend seems surprised, but it doesn’t last. He’s ancient and powerful and Sephiroth can already feel the deadly echoing tick of a clock in the back of his head. Beside him, Angeal falls to his knees, Genesis cries out. No. Not them. Not now. Not like this.

Sephiroth surges forward, Masamune poised. Everything goes quiet and slow. He’s wading through water, through deep snow. His movements are sluggish and clumsy, but he only needs to hit one spot one time. The blade pierces the inky hide of the monster right where it joins the glowing red stone. The thing gives an enraged scream as the volume goes way up and time returns to normal.

Angeal and Genesis pick themselves up, gasping. The Wutai troops are dead, as are the rest of the Shinra soldiers. Vlad lies still on the ground, the only noise that of the fire, and the wet gasps as he tries to breathe. Sephiroth looks down at the red stone in his hand, black blood trickling through his fingers. Oh gods. What has he done?

“Vlad…” Sephiroth says, voice small. He tries desperately to fit the materia back into the hole in Vlad’s chest, but it won’t stay put. “Vlad, no… I’m sorry!”

Vlad, against all logic, is smiling. He chuckles a little, black spilling down his chin. With one hand he reaches up and touches the swaying tress of Sephiroth’s bangs.

“You look...just like your mother…”

Sephiroth stops and stares, frozen. His mouth works silently as his brain struggles to catch up.

“My mother?”

But the light in Vlad’s eyes is gone. His arm drops heavily.

“Vlad? _Vlad!_ ”

It’s too late. His human summon, his guardian, is gone. All he has now is the stone in his hands and the friends at his sides. He grips the materia tightly, feeling it pulse with its own heartbeat. It will have to be enough.


End file.
